


From Hell

by ThePieIsALie



Series: In the Shadows of London [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Historical References, Jack the Ripper DLC, Post-Jack the Ripper DLC, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-25 16:50:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9830786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePieIsALie/pseuds/ThePieIsALie
Summary: The 'From Hell' letter was a note written by someone claiming to be Jack the Ripper. It was sent along with a human kidney from one of the Ripper Victims.In 1888, the reign of the Frye twins was abruptly ended. London was held under the grip of terror of Jack the Ripper, a rogue Assassin who blamed Jacob for his mother's death. When Jacob is kidnapped and held hostage, will the others be able to help him? Or will the repercussions of Jack's acts be too much to salvage?





	1. Cobblestones and Fog

*Notes: There is quite a few time skips back and forth!*

 

**October 15th 1888**

_ From hell _

 

_ Mr Lusk _

_ Sor _

_ I send you half the _

_ Kidne I took from one women _

_ prasarved it for you tother pirce _

_ I fried and ate it was very nise I _

_ may send you the bloody knif that _

_ took it out if you only wate a whil _

_ longer. _

_ signed _

_ Catch me when _

_ you Can _

_ Mishter Lusk. _

 

George Lusk, Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee was inclined to scoff at this poor attempt at a practical joke. He swiftly dismissed the letter and the box and stored in in his desk. 

The next morning, during a meeting for the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, he showed the letter and accompanying box to his fellow companions. 

They, however, did not find it quite as unbelievable. Mr. Lusk wanted to throw the letter and kidney away, but the other council members convinced him to take it to a nearby surgeon, Dr. Frederick Wiles. However, Dr.Wiles was out. So, his assistant examined it. 

The assistant urged them to take to London Hospital, where it was again examined by Dr. Thomas Horrocks Openshaw, who in turn brought it to Police. 

The final jurisdiction was that it was indeed a real kidney and that it belonged to Ms. Catherine Eddowes, the second victim of Jack the Lad. 

My name is Penny Frye, and this is my fault. 

 

**May 4th 1870**

His name was Jack. He was a sweet lad, with curly dark hair and bright eyes. He was quick as a pistol shot and was excelling rapidly under Jacob’s tutelage. I was confident Jack would be a true asset to the Brotherhood. 

Jack finishes his exercises and runs up to me, his sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. “How’d I do?” he asks excitedly. 

“Very good. But you need to go eat now. Henry prepared us a lovely meal.” I pat his shoulders.

He sighs and looks at the fading sun in the sky. “Even Assassins need to eat. We’re not invincible.” I remind Jack jokingly.

Evie is trying to move a wooden table across the room, to fit the rest of the Indian Brotherhood trainees at the table. 

“Ah Mrs. Frye” Evie addresses me teasingly. “Would you help me?”

“Of course Ms. Frye” I return

As we eat, I watch Jack’s movements. His hands have healed but I can still see the scars from the asylum and from living in poverty. I have the same scars. Jack pokes at his food, stabbing his fork into the meat and tearing it apart. Sometimes I worry for the boy. His mother was killed by Templars and I don’t think he’s recovered. He’ll get violent mood swings, sometimes acting like a perfect child, and other times he’ll storm off and not speak to anyone for weeks. I wonder if Assassin training if only making his mind worse. But I refuse to bring him back to Lambeth. 

Jacob is telling the story of the first time I threw a fear bomb and got scared myself for the millionth time. I knew it would happen, but the anticipation of waiting for the casing to crack made the fear worse. I flush and then swat him. 

Suddenly, Jack stands up, knocking back his chair. “You shouldn't tease her like that.” he shouts, his voice cracking. He storms off towards his sleeping quarters. 

Hastily I pull myself out of my chair and follow him. I push open his door carefully, and see him sitting on his bed, head bowed. 

“Jack?” I call out quietly “Jacob wasn’t hurting my feelings. It’s just how our relationship works”

Jack doesn’t move, and he grips the sides of his bed so tightly I see his knuckles turn white. Gently, I reach out and brush the hair out of his face. I used to do it to my brother Charley when he was feeling down.

Jack reaches out and grabs my wrist. “I’m not your brother. I’m not Charley.” He pauses and flicks his eyes to the door. “Get out.” He says in a shockingly calm voice. He shoves my arm back towards me, turns around and curls up in the fetal position. I step out of the room.

 

**September 17th 1878**

“Jacob.” I call out to my husband. “I think we should send Emmett to India. He can stay with Evie and Henry for a little while.” Emmett was born three years ago, named for my mother Emilia. He is our pride and joy. 

He looks up. “Whatever for?”

I lower my voice to a barely audible whisper. “Jack’s getting more and more violent. I can’t watch them both all the time now that Emmett can walk.” I take a deep breath. “I’m worried for our son’s safety.” 

Jacob scowls. “Then perhaps we should send Jack away.”

“Jacob, we can’t do that.” I protest. Jack is our responsibility and Jacob knows this. He’d never hurt Jack, and tries his best to be a surrogate father to Jack. 

Finally Jacob flops in his armchair. “I’ll make the arrangements.” he says quietly. I can see age beginning to wear him down. I curl up in his lap.

“I don’t want to let him go.” I whisper into Jacob’s clothing, my voice muffled. Jacob rubs the small of my back. “We can help Jack.” he says with determination. 

When I leave the study, I check up on Emmett. He’s asleep in his crib. I open Jack’s room and am immediately greeted by a barrage of questions. 

“You’re sending me away?” he shouts. “How could you let Jacob send me away?” He kicks at his bedpost and turn to me, his eyes burning. “I thought you understood me.”

“Jack!” I shout, stepping back. “We’re not sending you away. I promise.”

“Then are you sending Emmett away?” his breathing is ragged and his fists are clenched. 

I look at my feet. “Yes.”

“Why?” he demands. “Don’t you trust me?” 

I don’t reply. My ears pick up the sound of sniffling. Jack is crying. 

“Please don’t” he mumbles feebly. “I can be good.” 

“I know you can Jack.” I say, pulling him into a hug.    
  


**January 22 1888**

Jacob collapses into his armchair. “I’ve lost them” he says defeatedly. 

“Oh Jacob. I’m so sorry.” 

“The Rooks are no longer in my control. Nor is London. We’ve saved it from Templars. Now we have to save it from our own kind.” Jacob pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Jacob.” I begin hesitantly. “I think perhaps this time we should truly send Emmett to live in India.”

“I think you’re right.” he mumbles softly, picking at a loose thread. 

 

**September 30th 1888**

_ Jacob blows on his hands, attempting to ward off the chilly autumn air. He is waiting for someone.  _

_ “Get a move on Mr. Finch.” Some rich bloke tells a man. “This is the story of a lifetime.” _

_ “Mr. Weaversbrook!” Jacob calls out. “I know you have more of the Ripper’s letters.” _

_ Mr. Weaversbrook barely looks back as Jacob catches up to him. “I told you to stay away from me.”  _

_ “Stop publishing his letters! You’re turning an unknown miscreant into a legend- and that’s exactly what he wants!” Jacob shouts desperately, gripping the man’s arm.  _

_ A woman cuts in. “Jacob! Thank god I found you. It’s the Ripper. He’s done it again.” _

_ Both victims are splayed out, long trails of blood leading back to their grotesquely arranged bodies.  _

_ Jacob knows it’s Jack.  _

_ How many more assassins must die before you see the truth, Jacob?  _

_ “Just one.” Jacob whispers. _

_ Jacob begins to run back to his flat, hoping to god his wife isn’t there. Jacob should have never inducted her into the Brotherhood. Its put them all in danger.  _

_ Jacob throws multiple smoke bombs to try and evade him, but we know it’s futile. A line of policemen guard an alley.  _

_ “Look sharp Lads!” the guard shouts. “Someone just ran by saying there’s a killer on his trail” _

_ These ones won’t be a problem.  _

_ When Jack reaches the graveyard, Jacob steps out. “Stop!” he shouts.  _

_ “You want me Jack?” Jacob asks, his voice trembling. “Come and kill me!”  _

_ Jack drags the policeman and then drops him unceremoniously. He begins to advance, like a predator that knows he has his prey cornered.  _

_ “This is not our way.” Jacob says, a last-ditch resort to try and reason with him.  _

_ “This is my Creed.” Jack snarls. _

_ Jacob throws several more smoke bombs and runs. What a fun little game they’re playing.  _

_ Jacob gets to his flat and shoves the door open. His wife isn’t there. He whispers a small thank-you and starts gathering up papers from his study. He doesn’t care about himself, as long as Penny and Emmett are safe.  _

_ “Going somewhere, Jacob?” Jack asks menacingly.  _

_ “Jack, you’re sick.” Jack looks down at the crude knife he is holding. He knows he is. But it makes him strong. He sets up a brutal attack. _

_ Jacob dodges, never hitting back. Afraid to hurt me? _

_ Jacob is eventually cornered against a wall. “Don’t you see the irony?” Jack laughs. _

_ Jacob lifts his hands in a surrender, showing his sheathed hidden blade. “Jack…” _

_ “Only you and Penny know how the Ripper is but you can’t tell a living soul… Because it would destroy you, and the Assassins.”  _

_ From the corner of his eye, Jacob spots a pistol and lunges for it. But Jack has been trained far too well. He shoves Jacob to the floor, holding a hand over his neck. _

_ “Jack, we can fix you.” Jacob chokes out. _

_ “Fix me?” Jack scoffs. “I am the solution!” _

**Same day**

Dammit, there are Rooks everywhere. I’m not sure I can get past them quietly, but I need to get home quickly. Jacob had a meeting with Mr. Weaversbrook and I’m very interested to see how it went. 

I’ll need to take the longer way home, over several rooftops. I can’t let Jack know where we are. 

Exhausted, arms and legs sore, I jump down to our building and get to our floor. My stomach rolls and small beads of sweat prick my armpits when I realize the doorframe has been broken and has come loose from the door. 

“Jacob?” I call out. There a signs of a struggle. A lamp has been knocked off a table and several sheets of paper are scattered over the floor. A bookcase has been emptied of all its works and a lone pistol lies on the ground. 

A single piece of paper lies of his desk. The writing resembles Jack’s. Only two words are written on it.

 

_ Come home _


	2. The Nemesis of Neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie returns to London

**One month later - H Division, Scotland Yard**

There are two types of darkness I’ve experienced.

One, the type of darkness that envelops you, like a blanket of sorts. It’s a safe darkness. The kind of darkness I felt at the end of a long day, when the gaslamp was extinguished and I felt the press of Jacob’s body next to mine. 

The second type is suffocating. The darkness is absolute. This is the darkness where you cannot see a way out, there is no way to go. I wonder what type of darkness Jacob has been condemned to. 

Since the Ripper’s reign began, there is only suffocating darkness. In the streets, in one’s mind. No way out, no way through. Perhaps Jack’s mind is also plagued by this darkness.

When my mind jolts back to a jarring reality, I notice the sky has turned overcast. An appropriate shade of grey colors the clouds.

“Mrs. Frye?” A hand touches my arm. Even under my clothing, I can feel goose flesh raise in my skin.

“Pardon?”

“I asked if you’d like to take a seat while you wait for Miss Evie.” Freddy clears his throat and gestures to a chair by his desk.

I flap my hand in the air absentmindedly, fixing my gaze on the water rivulets racing down the window pane. “No, thank you.” 

I pluck at my lower lip, pacing around the room. Perhaps Evie didn’t receive my letter. Perhaps something went wrong, and I’ll have to chase down -- this,  _ monster,  _ all on my own. The door to Freddy’s office opens, and a man comes in lugging a large case, with a travel stamp from India.

“Evie!” I cry out, launching myself at her before she has time to realize that the hurtling person coming towards her is me. 

She has the same blue twinkling eyes that,  _ still,  _ remind me of the Thames when the sun hits the water just right.  Her skin is tanned and slightly wrinkled after her many training hours spent in the heat of the Indian sun. And, when I look closely, I see traces of Jacob. The way she smiles when she sees me. Or the purposeful trademark Frye walk they both have. I’ve missed her so. I miss Jacob.

“Where is Jacob?” Evie asks, pulling away from the hug, her hands still holding my upper arms. 

I begin to chew on my lip, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't destroy her. Freddy steps in. 

“Ms Frye, Whitechapel has been overrun by murders of a most horrid sort.”

“I am aware, and that is why I’ve arrived as soon as was possible.” Evie reminds him.

“Evie- Jacob… he’s missing.” I say wringing my hands. A fine sheen of sweat covers them and I quickly wipe them down on my trousers. “I- I think it’s Jack.” I shoot a sideways glance at Freddy. He knows we know, but he also knows he can’t know anymore then that. 

“The killer is selective and dispassionate, and has left not a single trace of his passage. I have seen such a talent for assassination and avoiding detection only once before.” Freddy pauses. “When I worked with the three of you.”

I feel a wave of overwhelming guilt. I didn’t murder Kate Eddowes, Lizzy Stride, Annie Chapman or Mary-Anne Nichols but I might as well have. I created Jack. I helped him end the lives of my sisters, unwittingly. Jack outwitted us all, and all I can do is try to make amends and track him down. 

No one wants to say it out loud, perhaps for fear of making it true.

“You think Jacob is dead?” Evie asks with an airy, unbelieving aura to her voice.

“I dare not believe it. But if he is, you may be the only people who can stop the Ripper now.” he gestures for us to follow him down the stairs. “Follow me.” 

We step outside. Crowds of people are waiting outside, held back by police barricades. 

“When you gonna stop that monster!?” I hear a woman shout angrily at us, stamping her little boots against the cobblestones. I look away, busying myself with an especially interesting button on my jacket. 

“I’ll take you to the site where the Ripper first struck.” Freddy says, guiding us precariously away from the throngs of people. 

“Incompetent!” Another woman shouts. She’s right. I haven’t felt this much guilt and desperation since Charley’s untimely death. 

“The journalists always seem to get here before we do.” Freddy ignores the shouts from the crowds. “We get there, they’ve trampled all the evidence, and the next day’s headlines are dripping with blood.”

I remain quiet, not sure what to add to what Freddy’s saying. I wonder if Evie blames me for Jacob’s disappearance. 

“Let’s take my carriage, shall we? I’d rather not get egg on my face again today.”

“What a waste of a good egg.” I say, trying to make a joke but it falls flat. It sounds odd to speak about something so frivolous. Or to speak at all, really. 

I decide that I shan’t ever make a joke again. 

We get into a carriage, where Evie is the first to speak. “What has become of this borough?” 

“Whitechapel is a cesspool of crime, Miss Frye, where terror reigns supreme. Elsewhere, the rich get richer, while the poor live by the living, fighting to survive… Reporters share a view of Whitechapel as a lair of savages, monsters and werewolves who hold honest citizens in a state of terror.” Freddy says tiredly.

“The Ripper’s terror.” 

And with that,we’ve arrived at the crime scene. 

In the newspapers, there was a sketch of someone I presumed to be representing Jack. It was a ghostly figure, sweeping through the streets of Whitechapel, arms outstretched and wielding a knife. The picture printed was titled as ‘The Nemesis of Neglect.” Underneath, they’d added a poem. 

_ There floats a phantom on the slum’s foul air, _

_ Shaping, to eyes which have the gift of seeing, _

_ Into the Spectre of that loathly lair. _

_ Face it – for vain is fleeing! _

_ Red-handed, ruthless, furtive, unerect, _

_ ‘Tis murderous Crime  – the Nemesis of Neglect! _

“We’ve arrived at the murder scene of Mary-Anne Nichols. I knew her as Polly- That’s what her friends called her.” Freddy clarified. “But the woman who died here was not the woman I’d met  few times at the Frying Pan Pub.”

“Then who was she?” Evie and I ask in unison.

“I was hoping you could tell me. Go see for yourself.” Freddy gestures beyond the alley.

“Was the body identified?” Evie asks.

“Her husband hadn't seen her in 11 years. He barely glanced at the poor, mutilated woman before he had the gall to ‘forgive her for what she’d done to him.” Freddy says drily. 

And mutilated is right. Polly’s throat had been cut and she had multiple stab wounds in her abdomen. I catch myself rubbing the skin of my neck in horror. Did Jack really blame the Assassins so much? 

Additionally, old dried blood is present in several areas of the scene. 

“The press widely reported that a ring from Polly Nichols’ fingers  had been forcibly removed, and the same is for the Ripper’s other victims.” Freddy adds as Evie leans down to inspect a particularly large splatter.  

I decide to make myself useful and glance around the scene, making use of my eagle vision. A bloody handprint is present on a stack of wood. It seems Polly tried to rest and maybe utilized this moment to toss the ring away. But why?

Using the vision, I look around for a possible trajectory if this was indeed where Ms. Nichols tossed her ring away. I place myself near the stack of wood. The ring had bounced off a nearby tree and had landed it a grassy mud pit. “Evie!” I grab her attention and point. The ring is an Assassin’s ring. I twist my own ring on my finger distractedly. 

“She must have tossed it away in a struggle. A desperate act to protect the brotherhood.” Evie whispers, distraught.

“You think they were targeted.” Evie says. It’s a statement more than a question.  

“Yes. And the newspapers are accusing the police- me- of letting the ‘first city of the world lapse into primeval savagery.’” Freddy nods once at both of us, tipping his hat and then briskly making his way back to his carriage. 

“Poor man.” Evie looks sympathetic as she watches Freddy make his departure. “We’ll need to tackle Jack’s influence over the gangs in London.” 

I shrug my shoulders and tip my head. “Jacob and I have tried already, but to no avail. Perhaps we’ll have better luck this time?” I say hopefully, but it come out dry.

“We should start with your flat.” Evie says, determination lining her voice.

I try not to gulp. I haven’t been back to our flat since Jacob’s disappearance, instead preferring to rent out small rooms. I’d like to stay as far away from Jack as possible. 

 

**Septembre 28th, 1888**

I lay on my side, watching the lamp illuminate the angles of Jacob’s face. His hand caresses the bare skin of my hip. I’ve just finished re-telling a story of my childhood in Whitechapel. I know for a fact Jacob’s heard this particular story before, but he asks me to tell it again nonetheless. 

“Whitechapel was the first borough Evie and I liberated. And now it’s a cesspool.” Jacob mutters.

“Darling, Whitechapel was always a cesspool.” I say gently, trying to drag his thoughts away from Jack. 

I see Jacob try to smile, but the serious look occupies his face again. He moves his hand from my hip to my cheek, his gaze intense. “I should have never let you become an Assassin. Jack will come after you now.” he says in distress.

“It’s a little late for shoulds” I say lightly, meaning it as a joke, but it gets misconstrued. 

“Yes. It is.”   
  
  


**Octobre 31st - The Scene of Jacob’s Disappearance**

Evie has no trouble barging into the room, immediately beginning to look around the room. She finds the glass of a broken mirror and leans over it. Her reflection becomes distorted and she grazes her fingertips over the glass. 

I step a little more hesitantly. Afraid, I suppose, of looking too closely. Evie stalks over to the nearby wastebasket. There’s a note in there I’ve already read, but have no desire to read again. 

_ Grand work the last job was.  _

_ I gave the lady no time to squeal.  _

_ How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. _

_ You’ll soon hear of me with my funny little games.  _

_ I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle from the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I can’t use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope haha.  _

_...Signed, Jack the Ripper! _

Just watching Evie’s eyes dart across the scrawled letters make my stomach churn. The note was printed three days before Kathy Eddowes’ murder. To me, the letter is just another example of my failure to stop the death of my sister. 

I feel the hair on the nape of my neck stand up and I feel as though someone is watching me. 

“Evie? I think I’ll return to my lodgings. I don’t feel well.” I call out.

Evie nods absentmindedly, staring at a picture of our last visit to India. I leave and step back out into the frigid Octobre air. The whole way back, I feel Jack following me. But he’s evasive and roguish and I can never catch a glimpse of him. Getting back to my flat, I collapse onto the bed, and flip Jack’s note in my hands. 

_ Come home  _ it reads. 

Alright Jack. 

I will.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_ She’s flipping the note in her hands. She’s debating whether or not to accept my command. I’m smarter than her, and I know she’ll accept. Now I get to wait.  _


	3. An Uncertain Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh man dudes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you are new to this story, welcome! I'd like to let you all know that this is the second part of a story, and if you'd like to read the first part you might understand this chapter a little better. 
> 
> Happy reading!

There are dead bodies outside the house. A man and a woman. I presume they must have been the occupants of the house. Jack murdered them just to get inside, just to torment me. That’s two more murders committed inside my childhood home. 

The man’s arm is thrown over the woman’s body, as if he made an attempt to protect her. “Crikey.” I mutter to myself.

Cautiously, I enter the house. My senses are heightened and I try to stay one step ahead of Jack and his little game. My boots creak over the floor, serving only to remind me of my uncertain present.

For a single, sickening second, I wonder if my father’s remains are still there, buried where I left him.

I entered a small room at the back of the house. There is a coal stove that is currently unlit. I remember in my childhood, I’d wander the roads trying to pick up pieces of tiny coal left by drivers in hopes to warm our house. A bucketful would only last a few hours, if that.

I found Jack sitting in the middle of the room, slouching. He still wore his canvas mask and top hat. His dark cloak was splayed out beneath him. He looked out of place compared to the musty, mouldy walls of the house he was sitting in.

I almost didn’t want to speak. He was just sitting there, tranquil.

Not murdering Assassins, not kidnapping and possibly slaughtering husbands. Just… sitting. I couldn't even see his chest rise and fall or his fingers twitch. There were absolutely no signs of life.

I am the first to break the silence. “Where is Jacob?” I hiss through gritted teeth.

Jack only sighs, never turning around. “I thought you’d understand.” he clucks silently like a disappointed school teacher.

“You could have been saved.” he snarls at me suddenly, rising rapidly from his spot on the floor. His face is mostly obscured by his burlap mask but I can see his fiery eyes staring me down.

“Jacob was the one to set the dynamite. The dynamite that killed. Your. brother. Jacob was the one who swore to protect the innocents of London, yet let my mother die.”

Jack pauses, breathing heavily. “How can you not blame him?” he juts a finger to his chest “As I do?”

Out of Assassin instinct, my hand hovers over the hilt of my kukri. I wonder if I would have been able to do it. Kill him, I mean, before he had the chance to realize.

But he did realize, and his own kukri came out with a cool  _ shink. _ Although I can’t see Jack’s face, I know he feels betrayed.

A throwing knife embeds itself in the wall behind me, moving at such a speed that I feel my hair brush against the spinning hilt. Is he serious about killing me?

Jack comes at me, the full force of his attacks hitting my forearms as I try to block. I try to move away from the wall, to avoid getting cornered. But I can’t block and move away at the same time. I was always a shit fighter.

His kukri nicks my arm and I cry out, far too slow to block his open handed fist. I try to land a blow to his stomach at the same time. However, he’s quicker than I’d anticipated and hits me first.

I am shoved up against the moldy wall with Jack’s gloved hand wrapped loosely around my larynx.

“I suppose I don’t have to know where Jacob is, will I?” Defiantly I look away from his searing eyes, trying not to give him the attention he craves. “I’m sure I’ll see him soon enough.”

He looks at me with eyes I can only describe as disappointed. “No. You won’t.” His kukri comes up to my throat and I shut my eyes.

I picture Evie and Henry’s wedding day. I picture the time Jacob gave Charley his old hat. I picture my mother braiding my hair and singing old Welsh lullabies to me.  I picture the Jack I loved when he was still a lad, roguish and reckless. Yet undeniably lovable.

These are the people I chose to love and who loved me back. The ones I call family. I feel the cold sharpness of Jack blade and I involuntarily tense, waiting for the flow of blood. There’s a pressure on the back of my neck and then… nothing.

My eyes snap open and I see that Jack has sliced the Assassin’s necklace from my throat. The pendant wobbles dangerously between the floorboards, and slips between a crack.

I have just enough time to look up at Jack’s face and gage his reaction. His eyes crinkle up like he’s smiling or grimacing.

Then, the blunt end of his kukri falls to my head and I feel myself slump.

Then darkness.

* * *

_(A letter to Doctor Thomas Horrocks Openshaw, the doctor who oversaw the examination of the kidney from the 'From Hell' letter.)_

 

_Old boss you was rite it was the left kidny i was goin to hoperate agin close to your ospitle just as i was going to dror mi nife along of er bloomin throte them cusses of coppers spoilt the game but i guess i wil be on the job soon and will send you another bit of innerds_

_Jack the Ripper_

_O have you seen the devle_  
_with his mikerscope and scalpul_  
_a-lookin at a kidney_  
_with a slide cocked up._

* * *

_Jacob began mafficking the second I returned to his cell. Guess he wasn't happy 'bout the blood on my shoes. Had to cop him a mouse just to get him to shut up. Someday, he'll understand I'm doing this for the good of everyone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter was slightly shorter then previous chapters.
> 
> London Slang Terms:
> 
> -Mafficking: Getting rowdy
> 
> -To Cop a Mouse: Give a black eye.


End file.
